


the space between

by unhappyrefrain



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Psychological Trauma, Sibling Bonding, Trans Female Character, alluka is 14 btw, no hunters au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappyrefrain/pseuds/unhappyrefrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the incident that destroyed the Zoldyck mansion and all but two of its occupants, Alluka searches for the truth, and finds it resting in the hands of her wish-granting alter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the space between

**Author's Note:**

> explanation: the AU here is a universe where the hunter association and the idea of pro hunters do not exist. nen is not mentioned but still exists, just not as a defined concept. everyone keeps their basic powers. the zoldycks are still assassins, and still awful. 
> 
> this is a goddamn epic in terms of the length of stuff i usually write.

You've known of her existence for a long, long time; a presence like the faint shadows that stretch around corners, quiet and lingering and almost reassuring. You know that she is there, like a parasitic twin, like sad teeth and black hair embedded in your right arm. But you've never really met her. Sometimes she's the voice in your mind that comes just after your thoughts, the shy, empty echo testing the depth of the waters. You know she doesn't have a name yet, and you know she's much younger than you, and talks in short, building-blocks sentences. You have dreams where you are holding her hand while the two of you walk through a darkened field, but you can never quite see her face.

Maybe it's better like that.

They tell you she only comes out when you're afraid. That you fall asleep sometimes and wake up a different person, wake up with blank eyes, an open mouth, and three requests. No one ever tells you what she asks for, or what happens if they refuse her. Or, you realize, what happens if they accept. You hope nothing bad. You don't think you'd be able to handle someone with your face and voice doing harm to others. Your hands-- not yours, sometimes.

 

* * *

 

After the fire, freedom hit you like a bullet between the shoulder blades. You didn't know what to do with yourself, when the mansion was gone and you had already been evacuated, you and your brother sitting across from each other in an already-furnished apartment. He was crying, and he couldn't look you in the eye. You wanted to ask if it was something you did, but even if it was, you know he wouldn't tell you. _To protect you from harm_ , he would say, but you begin to wonder if what he means by that is really to protect you from yourself.

The money is in the bank account, enough to live off for the rest of your lives. So Killua indulges you sometimes. He buys you scarves, flower and plaid patterns, that you keep clutched to your chest and wrap around your newly-forming Adam's apple. When you walk around the city you don't talk to anyone, keep your hands either in his or in the pockets of your dress. "Why is it so hard to get?" he's always said, voice taking on the defensive edge you've only ever heard him use when he's talking about you. "Alluka's a girl. She's always been a girl. You don't get to decide what she is."

You know you won't always get to rely on him. That someday you'll have to push yourself off from where you've been clinging to the wall, to learn to swim. But it's comfortable here, where the water is shallow, and you love Killua, and being with him is fun. You can buy dresses and sweets and stuffed toys, and then you can share them all with him, yes, even the dresses. And at the end of the day you can watch the sun go down and help Killua make dinner, and you can jump on the bed, and then you can write in your journal and sleep, and if you get scared at night and have bad dreams Killua is there, and he will stroke your hair until you calm down, and you'll be safe and you won't be alone anymore.

Isn't that what you wanted?

It's better this way. If you never find out.

 

* * *

 

You've never actually spoken with her before. Although you share a body, you don't get many channels to interact with each other, so most of it has been in journal entries, your writing neat and curly, hers a barely-legible scrawl. And it was never instantaneous; you'd have to wait until the next time she woke up, write reminders on your own hand for her to see, to open that journal, and she'd forget, too, or start an entry and only stay awake for a little while before she got drowsy and you'd wake up, pen in hand, disappointed.

She knows your name. You've told her before, meticulously writing it in the margins for her to practice. _A-l-l-u-k-a. Two Ls. Alluka_. Sometimes you'd wake up and open the journal and find your name scribbled across the rest of the page, repeatedly, in a trembling and childish hand. _Aluka. Al-luka. Alluka_. She never gave you her name. You don't think she has one. Would she let you name her? Probably not, since she's her own person as well. You debate asking for her name in your next entry, then decide against it. You don't want to push her too hard.

She's obviously younger than you, and even in contrast to your sheltered upbringing, she knows almost nothing about the world around her. She knows what a family is. Who Killua is. She doesn't remember the names of the other members, but she's afraid of cats, because she says they remind her of someone. You can only think of your oldest brother, all thin limbs and jutting bones, stringy black hair and empty almond eyes. The way he smiled, called you an "it" in the same breath. You're glad she doesn't remember him. You almost wish you didn't.  
  


One time she asks you why Killua is always so sad when she's awake.

You don't know how to respond to that.

 

* * *

 

_Dear other me,_  
_Do you know what you look like?  
_ _Love, Alluka_

  
_Alluka_   
_I look just like you! But more sad_   
_not sad though. How do you say when you are happy? when you love a person?_   
_＊_   


(She signs her name with an asterisk. Sometimes she'll cover the margins in them. It's probably just because she likes the way they look, you think. There's no real reason behind it.)

  
_Dear other me,_   
_When you are happy, you smile for yourself._   
_When you love a person, you smile at them!_   
_It's simple. You don't have to use words at all._   
_Love, Alluka_   
  
_ALLUka_   
_I like this jornal because_   
_it has flowrs on the front look_

(here, she draws an arrow from the word "look" that runs from the page onto the cover of the book, and then settles on a rose, one rose, at the very corner of the bramble-pattern frame around the cover, one that looks so sad and small, shrunken into itself with the effort of growing amongst so many other roses)

_do you like flowrs?_  
 _Rite back plese_  
 _＊_  
  
Not really, you're tempted to answer her, that they're pretty but fall apart too fast, that they can hurt you with their spines, that you love how they look and smell but you don't want to fall in love with something that will just shrivel and die.

But you don't tell her. You think this might have to do with the fact that you want her to be happy, oblivious, trusting where you have been doubtful. You treat her too much like you'd treat your past self, trying to raise her to avoid mistakes. Like a second chance.

You still have much to learn about living; about breathing different airs. She deserves to learn too, but only about things that are happy. For now. Maybe the flowers will last longer for her.

 

_Dear other me,  
_ _I like flowers too!_

 

And then,

 

_Do you have a name?_

 

* * *

 

(You are young.

You don't yet have the words to talk about what happened.

It is okay. He can't look at your face right now without the tears. But someday, Killua will smile at you again.)

(Because that's what people do when they love someone. Alluka taught you this.)

 

* * *

  
  
_Alluka_  
 _No name yet Maybe that I have the same name.  
_ (Here her period is like a large circle, empty on the inside.)  
 _How do you get a name  
_ _＊_

  
_Dear other me,_   
_Usually someone gives it to you. Sometimes you pick your own name._   
_Love, Alluka_

  
_Can Alluka give me a name_  
 _?_  
 _I want to be Something_  
(here she capitalizes the word, as if being Something is better, more human, more valid than being just something)   
_Plese rite back  
_ _＊_

  
  
You think about this. You think about this for what seems like a long, long time. Something that isn't you; she's her own person. Something that-- something, Something.   
  
Nanika.  
  
In the part of your mind that she occupies, the corner that she nests in, you can feel her smiling.

 

* * *

 

They say giving a name to something gives it a presence, lets it move through the world. You can't help but think this is true, with Nanika. There are moments when she reaches out to you from wherever she is, and you can feel it. You want to connect with her somehow, meet her halfway within the space of your mind. There needs to be overlap between your different consciousnesses, a place where both of you can be awake in the same body at the same time, so you focus on building it in your head; a large, empty, open room. Windows, filtering in white-yellow light, casting warm squares on hardwood floors. In the center of the room, a table, and two cushions-- one for you, one for Nanika.

The bond between you is growing more stable, more tangible, but you still can't pull her towards you. So you settle for this, light contact, every so often, falling asleep and-- for the lightest, most quavering second-- catching a glimpse of a wide, empty smile.

Sometimes when you fall asleep at night Nanika doesn't wake up in your place. She stays asleep, no sign of stirring, and you open the journal in the mornings and find nothing there to read. She's been writing much less frequently now. Killua says she comes out when you're scared, so in any other case it would be a good sign, but you want her back. There's so much you need to ask her, so many lives to teach her. So many questions.

 

You lie in bed sometimes, holding Killua's hand and pretending to be asleep, but it's too dark for him to see that your eyes are open and you're staring through the ceiling, as if trying to rip apart the plaster and catch a glimpse of stars. You prompt her, quietly, in your head. _Nanika. Nanika, where are you._

She doesn't answer, and you're not sure if it's because she can't hear you or because she doesn't want to.

You're starting to worry about her.

 

* * *

 

In your mind there is a room, built from repeated imagination. You have visualized it over and over, against the dark background of your closed eyelids before you fall asleep. It's coming together at this point, the walls almost real enough to make noise when hit, the endless-dusk light spilling in from the windows thick as honey. You close the door, run over the wall one last time, and sit down on one of the cushions and wait.

The next thing you hear is an inquisitive little knock.

Startled, you leap to your feet immediately, and then call out for her to come in-- but she's so small she can't even reach the doorknob. You resolve to fix this for next time, and open the door, and finally, for the first time, face your alter.

"Nanika?"

"Yes."

Her voice is surprisingly young, unchanged, enviably feminine. This is you much before puberty, the one you wish you could have kept. She's tiny, measures up to your waist, but what strikes you most as you look down and into her face is her eyes. Blank circles, infinitely black, and her mouth, the same, no teeth or lips, only darkness when she opens it. Like an eerie cartoonish rendition of a smiley face.

To anyone else, this would be terrifying. But she's too much a part of you to be scared of anymore. You open the door all the way, and Nanika tiptoes in; you notice the way she moves, stuttering and shy, across the floors. Like she's trying not to kick up dust, or leave footprints, going silently into the melting light.

"I want to ask you some questions, Nanika," you say, and after pacing a bit she plops down onto the cushion, rests her little chin on the table.

"Questions?"

"Yeah. I wanna know more about you."

She blinks, very slowly and deliberately.

"I'm younger than you," she says, concentrating on her words. "But I was born when you were. I don't grow up."

"How old do you feel like you are? Like brain old."

"Um, five?"

That makes sense. Her writing stuttering and speech patterns developing.

"I learn about stuff though," she adds, looking up at you. Her blank eyes are unsettling, but they're not the same blankness you remember from Illumi. "Like writing, and names."

"Got it." You nod. "Do you know why you come out?"

She goes silent, considering it. Her expression brightens when she remembers-- she seems to have a dim memory, you note. "When you're scare, or sad. Also, when someone wants a wish."

"A wish?"

"I like giving people wishes," she muses, stretching out over the low table. Sunlight falls on her hair, dripping over the choppy ends like wax. "But they have to do three things for you or me first."

"Like what?"

Nanika pauses, eyes closing and opening slowly, as if reloading a database. "Um. Like when Killua pets your hair. Or gives me chocolate. When the helping people did stuff too. They always want something so I gave them."

"Do you remember what anyone wishes for?" You're getting to it. You're getting closer, but some part of you wants to back away, to leave the truth still buried. But you push on.

"Not really but, I remember who wanted wishes."

"Who was the last person that wanted one?" Your voice gets a little louder, higher, as it does when you're stressed.

"Um. Killua."

"And you gave it?"

"I always say yes to Killua. Even if he doesn't do threes."

_Well, there's a rule_. You note that.

And then you realize. Killua was the last one to make a wish. No one else has been around to make wishes since--

"--since the mansion burned down, oh God, Nanika, I'm sorry but I have to go I'll write to you tonight--"

She wavers, blinking sadly, but the walls melt around you and the sunlight becomes blinding white, erasing everything, the table, the cushions, and Nanika standing in the middle of the room, her blank eyes a question, never answered.

 

* * *

 

"Killua."

It's nighttime. Darkness blankets the apartment, polar opposite of the sun in your mind-room.

"Killua," you call. You've been sitting at the kitchen table, and your body is sore-- you don't know how long you were in the mind-room, but it must have been a while. "Killua! Get in here!"

A rustling from the bedroom. Killua comes dashing out, electricity crackling at his fingertips, ready to kill anyone who could hurt you, as he's always primed to do. But when he sees you, alone at the table, blue eyes a storm, he calms down. You can tell he’s still on edge, though; you can always tell these things with him. He’s on his tiptoes, which is one of his tells, and he rocks quietly back and forth on the balls of his feet, glance pointed as he scans the room once again for danger.

“Killua, stop. No one’s here but me.”

He’s so twitchy, so agitated, even when there’s no danger around, and you realize he must have had a nightmare. Seeing how protective he is of you right now, you can read his sharp expression like a book-- you died in his dreams. Again.

“Sorry,” he winces. You tap the other side of the table, signaling him to sit down.

“I talked to Nanika.”

“Nanika?”

“The other girl. The one who grants wishes. That’s her name.”

Killua’s eyes go wide, and his mouth opens, closes, trying to speak. His voice is hoarse when he gets the words out. “How?”

“I got to know her first. That doesn’t have anything to do with it. Killua. What did you make Nanika do.”

He freezes. In his expression is panic, his reaction to any danger he can’t escape from, something he has to fight head on. For the longest time you knew Illumi had manipulated him, kept tabs on him when he finally left the mansion to go on his own, and made perfectly sure that he never faced an enemy he couldn’t kill, or a situation he couldn’t escape. When Killua broke free from your brother’s clutches, he left that tattered at his heels, but sometimes it still comes back. The gaslighting. The constant repetition. _You are part of this family, and that makes you a killer. An assassin by trade. You do not have feelings like others. You’ll never be able to make friends. The only thing you should worry about when you meet someone is whether or not you should kill them._

“Killua,” you repeat, cutting through the silence. He flinches back, his shoulders tensing, on guard. “What did you do.”

“I…”

“ _Say_ it!”

The hiss comes from your mouth unbidden, and Killua jumps off his toes, back-handspringing towards the apartment door. You immediately bite your lip. “Sorry. Just. Come back here. Tell me what happened.”

Slowly, cautiously, Killua returns, sitting down across from you.

“I killed them.”

“You couldn’t have.”

"I _did_. I wished for it. Indirectly. But I did." Killua stops, then gives a strangled sob, an apology in twisted vocal cords. "It's my fault. There was a fight. I made Nanika do something you would never want to do, and now they're all dead and everything's gone." _Gone_ \-- the word is harsh, spat between clenched teeth, all anger and loathing and absence.

"Oh," you say. Weight sets into your bones like a mold. "Oh." Again, like an echo, but it's not-- those aren't your words. Nor are they Nanika’s. You don't know whose they are. But they're empty, devoid of life, ruined.

"Oh, God," you finally finish, and crumple into yourself at the kitchen table. " _Everyone?_ "

"Illumi, Milluki, Kalluto probably. Mother and Father. Probably the butlers too. I'm so sorry."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you."

"I wanted you to be safe-- God, I couldn't stand it, seeing Illumi treat you like an _it_ , like a lifeless soulless _doll_ , he didn't care about you, it made me so angry!" His chest is heaving, tears dripping from his pointed chin. It feels like in the few months since the mansion burned, Killua has aged, impossibly mature and intrinsically broken. "It was impulsive, and I usually don't do impulsive stuff, but... I don't... knowing that I was probably the only one who loved you!"

"That still didn't give you the right to--" And then you stop. A memory rises from the depths of a well, uncovers itself as it surfaces.

  


_"If I was the only one in the world who loved you... would you be sad?"_

_"No... I'm so happy... I could cry!"_

  


You can't stop thinking about it. At the time you probably didn't feel the impact of it, the weight of being loved by just one. In your mind it was enough, back then. But as you got older, you started to understand the gravity of it. How one person's love can be a powerful explosive, or a fire to keep you warm.

Killua loves you so much. And you love Killua. But while you can't always be willing to do anything for him, Nanika is.

"So the argument escalated, it was mainly just me and Illumi fighting until Mother stepped in and started screaming. Dunno where Father was. In the study or something. And you were asleep."

 

_"Alluka is of no use to us besides its power. Kil, you don't understand it. It has no soul, no thoughts or emotions. We have to keep it here, for our safety and for everyone else's."_

 

"And then when he said that, I just... I broke. You were asleep, and then Nanika woke up; she must have heard the fight and gotten scared. And I screamed about how much I hated them all. And I said it carelessly. _I wish everyone who will hurt Alluka would just die_."

"Did you know she was awake?"

"I think I did. It wasn't conscious, but there was some presence in the next room that wasn't exactly yours. I don't think I sensed it until after I made the wish, and then I heard Nanika say _'kay_ from the other room, and--" He chokes. "And then Illumi burst into flames. God. Thinking about it is just." Shivering, a new wave of tears rushes from Killua's eyes. "His eyes as the flames crept up-- he didn't even move-- his expression never changed, not even when he was dead, still those blank, soulless _eyes!_ " He's screaming now, fists clenching against his white shirt, the collar wet with tears. "Honestly, I always wanted to see the moment when he died, just to see if his eyes would ever change. But they just... forget him calling you soulless. _He's_ the soulless one!"

"He was trained as an assassin, you all were--"

"Assassins aren't supposed to just stand and die!" Killua screams, teeth gritted, doubling over himself. "It's like he didn't... even... _care_! He didn’t care that he was dying or that anyone else was! I don’t understand…”

He looks so terrified, so angry, so many things at the same time. You’ve never seen him in this state before; you want to reach your hand out and place it on his shoulder. But the sadness, the grief inside you, twists you up and over, and you can’t move.

"You don't know what I would do to protect you, Alluka."

You grit your teeth, stare him down-- trying to push back the tears, look as strong as you can. Killua can be terrifying when he's angry. He can kill quickly, silently, without remorse. But you are not afraid of him, not even now.

"Now I do."

The anger breaks over him like a fever and washes into grief-- he looks at you helplessly, then collapses into himself, the chair sliding painfully back on the tile floor as he covers his eyes with his hands, throws his head back and screams. You watch him, frozen, your bones heavy as lead, and he sobs so hard that his entire body shakes with the force of it. You feel yourself separating, oil and water, anger and remorse, the need to reach over and the need to stay quiet and watch as he picks himself apart.

 

Killua is still hunched over himself when the phone rings.

Quickly, you reach over the table to check the caller ID-- there's some mad hope in your heart that it might be your family, expecting Killua, ready to fight. But your heart freezes when you watch the name flash on the screen.

**Kalluto (cell)**

"Big bro," you shake him, teeth chattering. "Killua. _Killua_!"

Jerking up, he sees your face and immediately looks to the phone.

"It's Kalluto. If you don't pick it up, I'll get mad."

He looks confused, blue eyes wild with pain and ringed in tear-blotched red. He looks utterly lost.

"Pick it _up_ ," you order, drawing your back up, suddenly taller, menacing and determined. He lets out a shaking sob, and flips the phone open.

 

"H... Hello?"

"Killua. Killua, is that you?" Their small, somewhat feminine voice drifts warily over the line.

"Kalluto, oh my God, I thought you were dead, I thought you were gone, Kalluto--"

"Don’t freak out on me. I gotta tell you something.”

“Okay, okay, um, Alluka's here, do you want to hear from her or no? Also is _they_ still okay, last I heard it was still fine but--"

"They is fine. Or she. Just not he, okay. And yeah. Put her on speaker."

Your heart _thrills_ , when they say "her."

"All right. Got it. Damn. This is..." Killua's voice trails off, tremors of worry. "Kalluto. How did you--"

"I don't think you knew since we never saw each other much. Mother kept trying to convince me about Alluka, but I wasn't having any of it. I'm done with that. I'm free now."

"Wait, so you're saying..."

"Yeah. I'd never hurt Alluka. Mother was on my case all the time. So I never said anything. But if any of them ever asked me to do anything to her, I..." Kalluto's voice suddenly becomes quiet, sunken. "I'd kill them first."

"I didn’t..." Killua trails off, into a short reverie. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, well. They're gone now."

"Kalluto!" you interrupt, about to break into smiles and tears. "So Killua's not the only one who loves me?"

"Nah. It never was just him. You’re not an it, or a he. You’re my big sister."

You look at Killua. His eyes are shining-- they're wide open, blue as yours, as the skies after storms. Slowly, a smile comes across his face. It's soft, warm, something you could wrap yourself in. Something you could nestle yourself into, create a hollow of your own, embraced in comfort and kindness.

"Kalluto," you say, high in your throat. "I love you too!"

 

* * *

 

"So where are you now? I don't think you'd have a place to stay," Killua asks. You're sitting and rocking your head on the table, back and forth, as you stare at the phone. Killua is scribbling something down on an old notepad.

"I called an... old friend. Someone I hung out with between missions. Kind of an accomplice. But yeah. She took me in. She lives with her girlfriend and this tiny trans boy who's always messing with a cellphone."

"Machi? And uh, what's her name, starts with a P..."

"Pakunoda. And the guy is Shalnark. You remember them."

Killua frowns. You lift your head, confused. "Yeah. They almost killed me once. Why are you still hanging out with them?"

"After that I told them not to touch you guys ever," Kalluto says, deadpan. "And they like keeping their promises. You'll be fine."

"If you say so," Killua shrugs. "Are you planning to go anywhere after that? You're too young to get a job or anything."

"I was actually planning to find you guys."

You let out a long, relieved sigh.

"But not until I knew you weren't mad at me. Wait-- you do believe me right? That I won't hurt Alluka?" Their voice takes on a note of worry, cautiousness.

"Of course!" you comfort them, piping up just as Killua starts talking.

"You wouldn't have survived if you were lying, anyway."

"Oh." Kalluto gives a blatant 'duh' sound over the phone. You almost laugh. "Well, yeah. Anyway. I dunno how long I'll be staying, so let me know if you want to come see me. They're all really nice now, I promise."

You're so excited you stand up and nearly tip over the table with the force of it. Killua shouts, pulls it back with a scolding frown, but you give him your puppy-dog face and he relents.

"I want to meet everyone! I haven't met new nice people in so long!"

"Alluka, calm."

"No calm! I have exactly zero calm right now!" You flail your arms. Killua's hands come out faster than you can even see and gently pin your wrists to your sides. He softly lowers your hands back to the table, guiding touches on your arms, over the veins of your hands, and you sigh, sitting back down. He's always known how to calm you, and you've never been scared of him. Not even when his fingers twist into needlepoint claws on command, or when he stomps into cement so hard that it shatters underneath him. He would never hurt you.

Intentionally, at least.

 

* * *

 

After Kalluto’s call from the blue, the situation feels lighter-- but it’s still not over. There’s still simmering resentment within you, about what Killua did. It’s not like he sat Nanika down and _told_ her to kill everyone; but it’s still painful, to know that your entire family besides Kalluto is gone, burned in the wreck of the estate they created from the price of lives. That it was a part of you, however innocent, that did it. And no matter how much they hurt you, no matter how long they locked you up there, dehumanized and used only when they wanted something, no matter how manipulative and abusive they all were, they still were your family.

You can’t bring yourself to hate. It’s just something that you’ve never been able to do. Holding grudges, getting revenge-- it’s all confusing and unrealistic to you. Sometimes you feel like you _should_ hate them. You know Killua does-- but then again, Killua was the one training in the torture chambers, while you were a child, sleeping and trapped with all the stuffed animals you could want. Killua was the one who suffered repeatedly. He was the one whose bones were broken, then rebuilt, then re-broken again. So you sort of understand why there’s so much hate within him.

But that doesn’t excuse it, to you. He was brought up as an assassin; you were raised as a burden, a tool. You learned emotions differently, learned to respond accordingly. The way you and Killua think will always be fundamentally different. Maybe Illumi was right. Assassins have different thoughts, different responses to stimuli, to social situations.

_But that doesn’t make him unfit to have friends._

_Not like Illumi said._

You flop backwards onto your bed and watch the ceiling. And then you start to worry about Nanika.

The room's gone; it might take a while to build up again. And you left her with such a sudden farewell-- she must be scared, sad, wondering if she's done something wrong. You decide to write to her.

 

_Dear Nanika,_  
_I hope you're doing okay._  
 _I talked to Killua about what happened. He told me the truth._  
 _I want to talk again. Maybe somehow we can make it better._  
 _Love, Alluka_

You leave a string of hearts at the bottom margin. Maybe she will forgive you.

 

* * *

 

Apparently she woke up in the middle of the night while you were asleep. The lights were low, so her handwriting is almost indecipherable, but there's not much you have to make out anyway. And there are more hearts on the margin, not yours. Your heart leaps.

_Alluka_  
_I hope Killua and you have the truth_  
 _You sond sad but I hope it is OK_  
 _did you find what you looking for_  
 _?_  
 _Nanika_

She doesn't sign with the asterisk anymore. It was endearing, but now she has a name, and she's proud of it. You remember how she asked how to get a name. She genuinely wasn't sure-- she was never sure of anything, and you feel more protective of her by the day.

You wonder how long she will be here. You heard that sometimes alters will fade after a while, or become different people. But you don't want her to leave-- she's a part of you now, just as much as your fingers or your heartbeat.

You start working on the room again. It comes together easier than last time, mainly because you have an idea of what it was before. You sit at the kitchen table, breathing slowly, eyes gently closed, focusing on raising the plaster walls around you. The night is coming, but in your mind there is light, rising up over the flat, nameless horizon. It casts a quiet glow over your skin, where you reach out your arm, watching the shadows move under you.

A light hand on your shoulder wakes you, but it’s just Killua, his presence reassuring. He’s softened significantly since your conversation and the call with Kalluto. You look up at him from where you’re sitting at the table, eyes wide and bright.

“Hey,” he breathes.

“Hi,” you say, getting to your feet.

“Kalluto got on the phone with me again. She said she’s in town. We’re not going anywhere; she’ll meet us here. She’s got all her bags and stuff, but it’s mostly stuff she got from Machi and crew…” He trails off. _Since we lost everything else in the fire_ , is what goes unsaid. “Have you talked with Nanika since last time?”

“She wrote in the diary, so she’s still okay. I was trying to get a hold of her just now until you walked in.”

“Ahh, sorry,” Killua sighs, pulling up a seat. “Do you want space?”

“No, it’s fine. You should eat,” you say, and then realize something. “I… I wonder if Nanika can grant my own wishes.”

Killua’s expression is blank for a half-moment; then, he settles into the chair, vaguely nodding his head. “If you have contact with her, I think it’d be possible. What are you wishing for?”

“Nothing just yet,” you muse, chin in hands. An idea is forming slowly in your mind, something taking shape from the black fog. You blink, look at Killua-- he seems worried, but there’s a spark of hope in his features, a willingness to move forward. “Actually, I think it would be better if all three of us were here before I do any wishing.”

He ponders this for a second.

“In the end, it’s your decision,” he finally says, before standing up and going to the cabinet to pick up a box of crackers. “I’ve done enough damage.”

He’s not smiling as he says it. But you know he’s right.

 

* * *

 

When you finally get in contact with Nanika, she’s standing in the center of the room you built around you, next to the table, her eyes focused on the door. She sees you, and her blank eyes widen happily, as she drifts across the floor to welcome you.

“Nanika, hey,” you say, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “I’m sorry I left so quick.”

“It’s okay,” she consoles you, tugging at the side of your shirt gently. “Do you have a question?”

You sigh, knowing that this is what you came here for, and you feel bad that the only conversations you ever have with Nanika are interrogations. You want to sit down for long periods of time with her, talk about the world and the trees and breathing fresh air. How the street looks, cobblestone roads and the smell of bakeries. How sometimes you dream that the two of you are sitting in a field, wildflowers surrounding you on both sides, and she ties knots in long blades of grass while you count clouds.

“Only one.”

“Okay, ask.”

“Can I make a wish?”

She looks up at you, her little hand still gripping your shirt, the black eyes blinking quietly.

“I think, yes, but you gotta do threes first,” she finally says.

“Are there rules on wishes?”

“Yeah, you can wish a thing, and then say _but_. That makes it less heavy.”

_Less heavy?_ The words sound odd, out of place. “What do you mean?”

“Um,” Nanika mumbles, looking up and to the side. She’s trying to find her words. “I do threes, and then you do a wish. But if you do a big wish, the next threes will be bigger.”

_So the gravity of the requests matches the gravity of the last wish made._ You start putting it together; there’s more than just aimless wish-granting to Nanika’s power. She demands a higher price on the next person to wish. You start to wonder if the price of your family’s lives will weigh back on you.

“Threes are hard right now,” Nanika continues. “Because Killua’s wish was big. He didn’t have to do threes though. The next person does.”

You nod, slowly, your heart sinking. You know what your wish is, and what your rules are. But it won’t be you doing the wishing.

It will, inevitably, be Killua.

Making up for his mistake, while preserving your freedom. This is the only option for you. You just hope it’s one that he can accept.

 

The rest of the time in the room is spent drawing alongside Nanika, talking in hushed voices about Killua and Kalluto and the sky. Her mouth is wide and black, but she’s smiling up at you, and it’s no longer unsettling, how there’s nothing there to stare back into. She’s fine the way she is, small and wide-eyed and inquisitive, scribbling on the paper with a light blue crayon.

You realize, as she coats the top of the paper with blue, that this might be one of the last times you really see her. Since the weight of the last wish, and the wish you’re about to make, is too heavy to ask for anything else, she won’t feel the need to come out. You already know Killua doesn’t like controlling her, or using her for small things. And since she only really comes out when you’re asleep, in times when you’re too stressed or afraid, you’re not sure how long she’ll stick around when you’re the one fronting most of the time.

It starts to worry you, a twisting in your gut, so you focus on now. Only now, when Nanika picks up the light green crayon, scribbles a field into the paper, dots it with pink and purple. Flowers. A whole field of them. And you realize it’s been her all along. You just never knew her well enough to reach out to her.

“I love you, Nanika,” you say, quietly, and she hums in her throat, soft and reassuring. You don’t need to hear anything. You just know.

 

* * *

 

Kalluto arrives the next day, dragging in their bag, looking disheveled and exhausted from travel. You are the first to see them, as they set the suitcase down at the door of the apartment and laugh breathily, and you nearly knock them over with the force of the hug that comes.

“H-Hey, Alluka,” they say, trying to catch their breath.

“Long time no see,” you giggle, tears coming to your eyes, because it really _has_ been a long time. Maybe a few months isn’t much in the scheme of things, but you thought they were _dead_. And acceptance of that, you’ve found, can make any period of time seem like an eternity.

Killua is in the room before you can react, throwing his arms around both of you. You notice he’s crying when you pull away from the group hug, and you don’t remember the last time he smiled and cried at the same time. At the thought of that, of the light in his eyes alongside the tears, you sniffle and bury your face in his shirt. Kalluto’s hand is on your back. There’s a long interval, just like this; Killua’s arms around you, your tears dripping into his shoulder, Kalluto’s thin fingers running through your tangled hair.

Everything is slow and silent, the good kind of slow, for a little while. When you finally stop crying, you pick your head up from where it was resting in the crook of Killua’s shoulder, and smile wide and bright. It feels good to cry, sometimes.

You walk to the couch together with one thought on your mind. They may be the only two in the world who love you, but that is enough.

 

* * *

 

“I know what I’m going to wish for,” you say, looking down at your lap. “It’s my decision, but I can’t wish it by myself; Nanika’s requests will be too heavy.”

“The threes?” Killua asks.

“Yeah. But she’ll always answer to you. It’s the only way we can fix everything that happened.”

“You’re not saying that…” Kalluto’s voice trails quietly, but she collects herself before anything else can come out. Killua looks, unsure, between the two of you.

“I am. But there’s a condition.”

Killua’s hand slides over yours. “Tell me.”

“I want you to ask for our family back. But,” you take a deep breath when you see Killua’s wincing face, “the condition is that they won’t remember us at all.”

He looks, gravely, at you, but there’s still light there.

“Like we never existed. It’ll just be Mother, Father, Illumi and Milluki. We can keep our freedom. We can have our own lives together, or apart. We can make up the damage we did.”

Killua’s grip on your hand tightens.

“Does that…” And your voice shakes-- no matter the resolve you have, the sheer courage it took you to do this, sometimes it hits you that you’re young and you’re living with trauma and unfamiliar freedom and the burden of your family’s lives on your shoulders. “Does that sound good?”

There’s a beat, a breath, and then, “Yes.” Clear, from Killua’s lips. You look over at Kalluto, and she nods, firmly, resolutely.

“Well, you have to make the wish, so.” You close your eyes, lying back somewhat. “Tell her to come out.”

 

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Killua’s low, quiet voice: “I have a wish to make.”

 

* * *

 

There is so much to lose in the silence; so much to be dropped in the gaps between breaths, between words, between lives. In sleep, in darkness, when words fail, when thoughts are not enough. An abyss that gapes under you, one you’re not worried about falling into-- instead, you drop your memories, like photographs, into the chasm. One by one, the aches subside. You feel the weight lift, quietly, as if it were never there at all.

There is so much to lose in the silence. But there is also so much to be found. So many things to be said. Killua has never known complete silence; he has never felt it wrap him like a blanket. There’s always wind, or the rustling of a servant in the hall, something, anything. But you, in your room, sealed off from the world by metal doors, at night when the butlers and maids leave and you are two levels underground-- you know the impact of silence, the space between happenings, between somethings. How it rings, and how no one else would know, the lack of sound becoming a sound in itself.

The space between everything, you find, is where Nanika makes her home. She sleeps, you wake, she wakes, you sleep. At night, when it’s quiet enough, sometimes you wake at the same time, in a room now cast in moonlight. You don’t want to lose her. She looks up at you and smiles.

Now, there are three.

 

 


End file.
